


Happy Thirty-Eight-Again, Blue Balls

by uglywombat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Double Penetration, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Other, Polyamory, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 04:58:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20420306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglywombat/pseuds/uglywombat
Summary: Steve has a serious case of blue balls. It’s his (fortieth) thirty-eight-again birthday, his loves are MIA and Sam Wilson just finished the last of his organic pelican muesli. This is turning out to be the worst birthday ever… until it isn’t.





	Happy Thirty-Eight-Again, Blue Balls

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a celebration for a Tumblr milestone. I really hope you enjoy.

Steve was pissed off. No, you know what, Steve was more than pissed. He was _<strike>really </strike><strike>extremely</strike> _**astronomically **pissed off. The kind of pissed off that would usually put in him in a sulk that only the soft, tender caresses and kisses of his loves would set right. Except, they were M.I.A.

He had, at the bare minimum, hoped for a morning _<strike>handjob </strike><strike>blowjob </strike>_**quickie **for his non-birthday. 

Because Steve does not celebrate his birthday. Celebrating his birthday on Independence Day would be unpatriotic, and Steve was not unpatriotic and birthdays were stupid. Why would you want to celebrate another year bringing you closer to grey hairs, sagging balls, wilting libidos and receding hairlines’? 

But instead, he had woken up to a cold empty bed, blue balls and Sam Wilson helping himself to Steve’s favourite organic muesli that he bought at Whole Foods. No scratch that, Sam Wilson was _finishing off _his favourite organic muesli that he had bought at Whole Foods and had nearly taken out an old woman to get the last box. What? Steve really likes _Pelican Bay Fruit-Free Muesli_. There’s a pelican waddling into a kitchen on the label. Don’t judge him.

This was shaping up to be the worst non-birthday ever.

I mean, <strike>_those assholes _</strike>**the two people he loved most in the world **hadn’t even had the decency to leave him a card or send a text to wish him a <strike>_happy birthday _</strike>**good day**. 

And yes, perhaps Steve was being a little bit petulant with the groaning, sighing and _<strike>flailing </strike>_**shuffling **in his seat as Sam drove him to their surprise mandate, aka fishing. Steve knew Sam was taking him fishing (because he’d seen the fishing rods and cooler in the boot) but he wasn’t about to ruin that for Sam. Because unlike the two people who could have at least fondled him a little in bed that morning, both of who had completely fucked out of dodge… Steve wasn’t about to take Sam’s day and stomp on it. Like **they **had stomped on his heart.

Steve was so caught up in his toddler re-enactment (Oscar-worthy, by the way) he missed the smirk on Sam’s face. 

“You know, I’m sure they just got called into the shop and you were snoring like the BFG and missed them leaving,” Sam tried to reason, only to wear the sausage McMuffin Steve had begged for an hour before. “They haven’t forgotten your non-birthday. They both love you,” Sam said, mouth full of sausage McMuffin. Sam doesn’t waste food.

Steve knew Sam was right (because Sam was mostly always right, but Steve would never admit to this). 

From humble beginnings, when you had accidentally punched Steve in the face at a Vampire Weekend concert that he was clearly too old to be attending but whatever, to quickly falling in love, to reconnecting with Bucky and eventually falling in love. 

Times had been hard, society had been unfair on your relationship but today you were strong and in love; albeit Steve had been abandoned in his hour of need (aka blue balls). 

Relationships between two people are tough, but three people? You had your fair share of arguments over the toilet seat (Steve), quilt thievery (you), candy wrapper discovery in between the cushions on the couch (Bucky). But the make-up sex was incredible.

Steve wasn’t surprised when Sam parked in the driveway of the Catskills cabin your friends-cum-family collectively owned and vacationed in on a strict timetable schedule (thanks to an embarrassing incident involving Clint and a pot of honey).

However, Steve was surprised when they didn’t follow their usual path to the lake, instead heading towards the old barn. Okay, Steve wanted to be mad because he was carrying the majority of Sam’s over catered fishing expedition, but Sam was his friend and not the asshole(s) who forgot his birthday that he really wasn’t celebrating. Honestly. 

This really was turning into the worst birthday ever. He was hot and he was sweaty and he hadn’t had sex that morning and he hadn’t heard a single word from the loves of his life… 

“Sam, why are we fishing in the barn?” Steve asked as they came to a stop out the old, decrepit barn (Steve was glad he is up to date on his tetanus shot). Sam scoffed. And Steve saw red.

Steve threw the fishing rods, lunch bag onto the ground with an almighty thud. “You know what, fuck this. This is the worst birthday ever. They didn’t even stick around to wish me a happy birthday. I didn’t even get to play hide the pickle. A handjob, Sam. Is that too much to ask for on your birthday?” 

Yes, Steve knew he was throwing a tantrum that rivalled Tony Stark but it was his goddamn birthday and he had needs and blue balls.

“Surprise!” 

Now Steve was a man who thrived as a CEO. He had a handle on his emotions like nobody’s business. However, when it came to being embarrassed, Steve was next level. His delicate Irish heritage had blessed him with a luscious red pigmentation, so when Steve was embarrassed his soft alabaster skin would transition into a beautiful shade of crimson. The blotchy kind that made him look like he was having an allergic reaction. 

And so, blotchy red from embarrassment (and the hot sun) Steve broke down into a flood of tears seeing you and Bucky at the entrance to the barn, your friends holding balloons.

“Well, that went about as well as I thought. Can I say I told you so?” Steve could hear Tony mutter as Pepper ushered everyone inside.

“Steve. Baby?” Bucky’s honey, balmy soothes him as he pulled the giant blonde into his arms, pressing soft kisses against his face. “You really didn’t think we’d forgotten, did you?” Steve just nodded, your arms wrapping around his thin waist, face pressed against his back. “We wouldn’t forget your fortieth birth…”

“Thirty-eight-again,” Steve corrected him amid the watery hiccups and sighs. 

“We love you,” your small voice washed over him. “Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up and you can change into something a little more festive.”

An hour later, a heavy make-out session on Sam’s bed, a handjob (finally) and some clothes that were definitely a lot more festive than his polo shirt and khaki’s (aka Steve’s dad clothes), Steve was finally able to take in the mammoth task you, Bucky and your friends had undertaken to turn the old barn into a rustic-themed birthday party.

Sunflowers decorated the farm-style tables, hay bales, balloons, tiered birthday cake. It was worth waking up to an empty bed and the breakdown (and the consequential teasing from Tony and Clint).

The evening cooled the air, fairy lights and candles warming the barn as the party died down. 

Steve sat back, relaxed sipping on his beer as he watched you and Bucky slow dance, deep in conversation, trading kisses, nuzzling your neck with his nose and neatly styled beard. Your smile was beautiful, mirroring Bucky’s infectious laugh as he spun you around.

Steve felt his heart melt and puddle in the pit of his stomach watching you both dance. He wasn’t sure if he could love you both any more than in this moment.

Bucky cast him a flirtatious grin and beckoned him over. Steve does not dance, blessed with two left feet. Bucky pouted as Steve shook his head before whispering in your ear, his eyes locked on Steve’s. You turned to look at Steve before bouncing over, pulling on his hand and dragging him onto the dance floor.

_Young and Beautiful _by Lana del Ray filled the air as your boys sandwiched you between their warm, strong bodies, cocooned and content. You swayed to the music, lazily trading kisses and caresses, enjoying each other’s warmth and touch after a long, arduous week. 

You snuck off as Steve and Bucky bid your friend’s goodnight, the main cabin set up to house them for the night. You and Bucky had plans for Steve.

You were just lighting the final candles as Steve and Bucky all but collapsed up the rickety old ladder, Steve precariously feeling around the ground, his eyes covered with a blindfold. You immediately dashed to him, helping him up and pulling him away from the edge of the rafter.

“I don’t know if I should be terrified or impressed that you got up with the blindfold,” you chuckled as Bucky moved to his other side and you both manoeuvred him to sit on the makeshift bed. Placing a soft kiss on his cheek you whispered, “Wait right there.”

You and Bucky made quick and chaotic work removing each other’s clothes, fighting back the giggles as you tripped over each other, playfully kissing in your tipsy states.

Bucky encouraged Steve to move back on the bed, resting his back against the pillow-laden wall, legs stretched out, pressing soft, tender kisses to his lips and neck as he slowly removed his loves’ clothes. Sweet, breathy wheezes fell from Steve’s lips, the sensation of lithe fingers trailing over his skin as he felt his overheated skin touch the air as Bucky removed his clothing.

You watched on, a mixture of awe, tenderness and affection washed over you, before you carefully moved over to the makeshift bed, balancing the cake in your hands as you shuffle across the bed, sitting on the opposite side of Steve.

A saucy glance shared with Bucky before he quickly removed Steve’s blindfold to reveal a small, perfectly iced cake covered in colourful candles glowing against his skin, and mouthwatering, fresh fruit.

Tears prickled as you and Bucky sang ‘Happy Birthday’ in that wonderful off-pitch, out of time and the perfectly joyous way you did each year. He would never tire of hearing it.

“Make a wish, baby,” Bucky cooed.

And Steve did. He wished that this would never end. That you would always have each other. Taking a deep breath, he blew the thirty-eight candles out, smoke filling the air.

“This looks amazing. This whole night has been perfect,” he said watching you pass a fork to Bucky. “Thank you.”

“We just want to take care of you, like you take care of us,” you hummed digging your fork into the cake and holding the cake-laden fork to his mouth. “Let us take care of you tonight.”

The cake was everything and more. More than he could have imagined. Fresh strawberries hidden in a layer of rich lemon buttercream, flakes of roasted almonds dancing in the light, fluffy sponge. Made all the better as the two loves of his life handfed him, fingers dancing ceaselessly along his neck, thighs and chest.

Cake-satiated, Steve gripped your cheek, drawing you into a heated kiss, pressing your naked body to his, his arm slung around your hips, fingers teasing your overheated skin. Bucky moved the cake off the bed but kept it within reach. Sex was hungry work after all.

Long deft fingers caressed against your cheek before Bucky pulled Steve away from your lips and to his own. You watched on as Bucky hungrily kissed Steve, roughly gripping his hair.

You were cool, breezy, snug love. Gentle, teasing caresses. Airy, breathy whimpers and sighs. Bucky was scalding, volcanic bursts of energy. Rough, loving, excruciating grasps, hot lips and scorching tongue. He sang salacious, bawdy groans and moans.

Steve was sunshine. He was the molten, pliable heart of your relationship. The balancing scales.

Lips ghosted his salty, hot skin as you gradually trailed down his body, his cock resting hard against his thigh, weeping angrily against his skin.

“Not yet,” Bucky warned pulling you up and crushing his lips against yours, his tongue demanding entry to your mouth, savouring the sweet cake. Steve watched on ravenously as Bucky dominated your kiss, his hands wandering over your skin, perfectly calloused fingers blazing a trail along your rib cage, a faint whimper dripping from your lips.

It went straight to Steve’s dick.

And so does Bucky’s hand, straight to Steve’s dick. Lip caught between your teeth, your hand joined Bucky’s grasping and moving up and down Steve’s large cock.

Well-groomed, always tidy and neat, his cock was a thing of art. You could spend hours with your mouth and tongue wrapped around him, praising him when words would fall short. Your other hand grasped Bucky, his free hand gripping the back of your neck with enough pressure to just keep you in the present. Tonight was about Steve.

“Tell us what you need, Steve,” Bucky’s husky voice sang over the cacophony of moans and whimpers.

“I want to make you feel good.” Steve could barely get the words out, lost in the feeling of those glorious, talented hands on his cock. Fuck, he was a lucky man.

“That you are, love,” you giggled cradling his face in your hands. Had he said that out loud? Your eyes searched his azure globes. “Tonight is not about us, it’s about you. So, tell us what you want.”

Steve let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you to straddle him. “I want to watch you come apart under Bucky’s tongue. I want him to make you come so hard you see stars. And then I’m going to fuck you like I had intended this morning before you’d both disappeared. Buck and I are going to fill you up just the way you need and you’re going to come again.”

You shudder and shake at his words alone. Salacious promises he always keeps. And boy does he deliver.

“That is what I want, my darlings. I want to you feel your tight pussy quiver against our cocks. I want to feel your cock, Buck, rub up against mine. I want to feel you full of our come.” His lips ghost against yours, soft and supple. “Is that okay with you two?”

Before you could respond, Bucky grabbed you by the waist, spun you around and pinned you against Steve’s chest. “That is absolutely fine with me,” he growled, greedy hands gripping the back of Steve’s head and pulling him into a libertine kiss.

With the grace of a leopard, Bucky lay before you on his stomach, throwing your legs over his shoulders before stilling. This was his favourite game to play, and Steve’s favourite to watch. His hot breath ghosted over your pussy as his eyes trailed over your damp lips, his hands resting against Steve’s hips, gripping.

Steve cupped your breasts, pinning you to his chest as you shuddered, Bucky idly kissing your lips, his arms holding your thighs firmly against his shoulders.

This was Bucky’s favourite position “to provide you with the service you deserve, doll”. He could see and touch his loves as your hips fought to ride his face, pinned to the bed and pliant to his touch. Whilst Steve preferred to drape you over his office desk and ignore the lunch you had brought him, instead making sure you came at least twice before fucking you against the wall. The perks of owning your own company.

Your hands flailed and quickly grabbed Bucky’s bun as he ran his tongue upwards and taking your clit in his mouth, a weak whimper reaching your lips. It was the only consent Bucky needed, his tongue drawing over your clit over and over again.

They worked in tandem, restraining you, teasing you as they drew you near and far from your orgasm. It was pure and utter torture, but it was Steve’s birthday after all, and this was what he wanted. You were more than happy to go along for the ride.

A sharp tug on your nipple sent you spiralling over the edge, Bucky clutching your thighs tightly as Steve painted your skin with soft, encouraging kisses.

You needed little coaxing to straddle Steve, however, you happily accepted their doting caresses, soft kisses and tender words of encouragement. Bucky pressed firmly against your back, you lazily traded kisses as Steve pulled you down onto the tip of his cock, his hands grasping your hips, his face buried in your neck. The heavenly scratch of his beard against your tender skin pulled a soft whimper against Bucky’s lips, who immediately took advantage, his tongue delving into your mouth, your musky scent a delicious reminder of your orgasm.

Steve controlled your descent, your walls slowly stretching against his thick cock, quivering with the motion. He nipped at your shoulder lazily as you bottomed our, relishing in that exquisite sensation of full.

Sandwiched between their hot bodies, you slowly and earnestly ride Steve, lithe fingers trailing over your skin; teeth and lips gently marking you. You trade kisses, a perfect triangle of partaking and offerings.

Now Steve wasn’t the only Boy Scout in your relationship. Bucky pulled out the discreetly hidden bottle of lube from underneath the pillows and generously coating his finger. Always prepared.

You had danced this dance before, you knew the movements and the stretch and pull of muscles. The careful, considered, teasing preparation. You longed for the soft, tender kisses and a loving sermon of encouragement, praise and tenderness.

“That’s my good girl,” Bucky praised as his finger stroked and stretched your walls, Steve chuckling at the sensation against his cock. “Tell our girl how good she is, Stevie.”

Steve grasped your head and pulled you into a heated kiss as Bucky drew another finger into your channel, the warm, piquant burn drawing a gasp from your chest. “It’s okay love, we will take good care of you. Don’t we always take good care of you?”

And you knew they would, they always did. You knew you could take so much more.

Slowly but surely you started to pull yourself up and down, your walls accommodating the distinctive coupling of cock and fingers. And as you grew more comfortable you encouraged Bucky to add more. You begged and pleaded for him to put his beautiful, thick cock in you, to fuck you as ‘Stevie’ wanted.

They knew you were ready, your movements becoming more frenzied, the less than subtle name-dropping ‘Stevie’. God, he loved when you called him that.

The whimpers and sobs that echoed through the room as they both pulled out of you were embarrassing, the overwhelming feeling of hollow too much to bear.

Bucky pulled you flush against his chest, pressing heady, weighty kisses on your neck and shoulders, savouring the scent of grapefruit on your skin. Beneath you, Steve shifted to lie on his back before pulling on your hips and pulling you directly into his rock hard cock.

Bucky’s lips silenced the cry emanating from your mouth, his hands cupping your breasts before Steve pulled you down to meet his own pillowy lips.

Steve held your gaze, his thumb trailing over your lip as Bucky coated himself liberally with lube, relishing in the pull of his hand before lining himself with your passage.

“Alright, my loves,” Bucky cooed, pressing hot, coquettish kisses against your spine, moving his hips forward slowly, his cock grazing against Steve’s, your walls stretching to accommodate him.

The familiar burn returned, scorching hands and exacting kisses pulling your attention away from the discomfort.

This was home. Pressed between two hot, indurate and amiable bodies, brought together by kismet, lives moulded together. Three souls assimilating and forging a life together.

“Are you okay?” Concerned azure eyes met yours, those hot hands caressing your skin.

A weak smile, glazed eyes, “Better than okay,” a breathy chuckle and your lips connect with his. “Please fuck me.”

The push and pull were all-consuming, dragging against your walls propelling you into a soul-draining orgasm. Your body raging hot sandwiched between the two furnaces you could not live without.

The body heat you sought out on those cold winter nights. The bodies you sought comfort in when your body ached or your patience was frayed.

Blazing crafty hands caressed your skin, seeking each other out as they slowly fucked you. The same hands you clung onto in the crowded streets. Lithe hands exploring and teasing under the blanket.

Breathy groans, salacious moans and eager sighs filled the barn as you moved together, racing to bring each other peace. The quiet calm you longed for at the end of a long week, only found after hours spent between the sheets, between two formidable and malleable bodies. A symphony of cherished phrases against the skin, the ebb and flow of dynamics from heated kisses and caresses.

Somehow, and you were too far gone to know-how (but thank God for yoga), Bucky pulled you up against his chest and Steve knelt up. Strong arms held you close as the two men fucked you mercilessly (thank God for arm day).

Bucky snaked an arm around your stomach and those lithe, talented fingers drummed against your clit. “Come on Stevie, come for us.” His salacious, deep honey voice vibrated against your ear, sending you over the precipice again, his chuckle melting with Steve’s as you collapsed in their arms, spent and boneless.

Steve’s movements stuttered and his lips locked with yours, his hands carded in Bucky’s hair as he came, Bucky following quickly, his hands gripped on Steve’s forearms.

Dizzy, satiated and exhausted, you lay side by side, chests heaving for breath.

“That was worth waking up alone,” Steve giggled, pulling you close to him, his hands playing with Bucky’s hair. “This morning I thought you two were a right pair of assholes.”

“And now?” Bucky asked, pressing Steve’s hand to his lips, pressing his chest against your back.

“Now I’m the luckiest thirty-eight-again alive.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to leave a comment - I love them more than danish pastries.


End file.
